


In a Different World

by literati42



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Borderline Personality Disorder, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Gil needs a hug too, Heavy on the angst this time, Hurt/Comfort, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Mental Health Issues, PTSD, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:07:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21571954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literati42/pseuds/literati42
Summary: What if Gil didn't become a part of Malcolm's life the night of the arrest?Twenty years have passed since the Surgeon's arrest, when Gil and Malcolm meet again. Gil is the detective on the case and Malcolm is the man, covered in the victims blood, swearing he did not do it.
Comments: 23
Kudos: 198
Collections: Literati42 Commissions Trades Requests





	In a Different World

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xyz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xyz/gifts).



> Fill for a request from xyz to write a version of the world where Gil and Malcolm didn't stay in touch. 
> 
> Just so you get the range of requests I'm filling right now. My last requested fic was a short bit of fluff about what Malcolm's favorite Pokemon is and now I'm posting this angst filled story! What I'm saying is, my readers want a range of things.  
> That to say **********I am still taking requests!!!********
> 
> Also this story is heavier on the mental health side of things, more explicitly than my other stories for this fandom. As always there are resources in the end notes but if you have questions feel free to reach out. 
> 
> And also as always, follow me on twitter @themythofpsyche for endless over-analyzing this beautiful show!

When Gil arrived at the precinct, it was still the early hours of the morning before the sun touched the sky. He nodded to Dani as they both walked in, JT joining them at the door.

“You caught the easiest case of your lives,” said Officer Ramirez, falling in step with them. “We arrived on scene to the suspect kneeling over the body, covered in blood, holding the murder weapon.” Officer Ramirez shook her head. “And you won’t believe who he is.”

Gil stopped, looking at her. “Who is he?”

“The son of a serial killer.”

He tensed, “Which serial killer?”

“Dr. Martin Whitly, the Surgeon.”

“Malcolm Whitly is in the interrogation room?” Gil said.

“How did you know his name?” JT asked, but Gil was already striding toward the room. He felt more than noticed his two detectives following behind and entering interrogation with him. His eyes were fixed on the kid handcuffed to the table.

Malcolm Whitly was pale, skinny, and dressed in a white button-down soaked with drying blood. His head was ducked, dark hair falling in front of his eyes. His hands were shaking, and he clamped them together as he tried to still them.

“Malcolm Whitly.”

His eyes snapped up. Gil saw the bags under them, the darkness in them. He looked scared and sad, but there was something else there.

He looked defeated.

“Officer Arroyo,” he said. “Or Detective?”

Gil took the seat across from him, and Dani joined. JT leaned on the wall. “Lieutenant Detective.”

“Congratulations,” the young man said.

“Did you call your lawyer?” Gil asked. He felt JT’s eyes boring into him but ignored it.

“I don’t have a lawyer.”

“Your mother’s lawyer then. Julie Summers? I can call her if you want.”

“Is there a point?” Malcolm asked. “Everyone’s already made up their mind.”

“I haven’t.” Gil reached into his jacket pocket as he answered, “Malcolm. You saved my life. I owe you.” He pulled out a green piece of hard candy and held it out between them. “So, I’m listening. I don’t promise I will believe you, but I will hear you, which may be the best offer you’re going to get.” Malcolm took the candy in his trembling hand. “Did you do this?”

Malcolm met his eyes, “No.”

Gil nodded slowly, “What did happen?”

The young man shifted his hands, tapping on the handcuffs, and tugging at his sleeve. “I was walking.”

“Little late for a walk,” JT said. Malcolm glanced at them for the first time.

“Malcolm, this is Detective JT Tarmel and Detective Dani Powell. They are good detectives. I promise you, they want the truth too. Whatever it is.”

Malcolm nodded slowly. “I…know it was late. Or early. I was…at the hospital.” His tremored seemed to increase, and he struggled to stretch his fingers out. The tension looked painful even from across the table.

“Who were you visiting at the hospital?” Dani asked.

“No,” Malcolm said, “I was in the hospital.”

Dani made a noise that Gil knew meant she was doubting the story. “The thing is Mr. Whitly, they don’t release patients in the middle of the night.”

“No,” he replied, “But it turns out there is rarely the infrastructure in place to force you to stay in a hospital if you want to leave.” He gave a slight shoulder shrug. “I was going to be released later, or possibly the next day. I just accelerated the pace.”

“Why were you in the hospital?” Dani asked.

Something shifted in him, “Here it is. The moment you all stop listening.”

Gil leaned toward him, hands steepled. “Try me.” Malcolm met his eyes.

“I tried to kill myself.”

“Headcase,” JT said under his breath. Gil shot him a look but not before something shifted in Malcolm. A wave of defiance rolled over him then, and he met JT’s eye.

“Yeah, I know. I was in the psychiatric unit. I have major depression, complex PTSD, and Borderline Personality Disorder. I am on a lot of medication, and no. It was not my first attempt.” He said all of this still staring directly at JT like a challenge. “I know what you’re thinking. ‘He’s crazy like his father. He left the hospital too early, so probably he was out of his right mind. He attacked that girl in a psychotic fit. Maybe he’ll get off with a not guilty by reason of insanity and end up at Claremont Psychiatric Hospital with his father, the Surgeon.’ The headlines write themselves. Never mind that my father was not crazy. Narcissistic, yes. Antisocial personality? Definitely. Psychopathic traits. Plenty of them. But out of his mind? No. He was completely rational the entire time.” Malcolm leaned forward, sounding a bit like he was teaching class. “That’s what made him so dangerous. And never mind the fact that despite what you see on TV, people who are mentally ill are not more likely to commit crimes than the general population. In fact, they are more likely to be victims of crimes. Never mind the fact that I am not mentally ill like my father, I am mentally ill because of my father. And most of all, never mind the fact that I didn’t do it. It’s an easy narrative. You can practically hear the closing statements. Why dig further? It’s only your job.”

Gil held up a hand to stop whatever JT was going to say, “That’s not what this is,” he said. “So, you were walking home from the hospital.”

Malcolm’s eyes flickered to him with genuine surprise written in them. “When I was walking home, I heard that girl scream. It was the middle of the night, no one was around, and the door to the house was open. I ran in and found her on the floor. I tried to stop the bleeding, but I was too late.” His eyes seemed to fixate on his bloodstained sleeves.

“You always rush into dangerous situations?” Dani asked.

“Yes, actually.”

Gil stood, stalling whatever other questions his team was readying. “We’ll look into it.”

The surprise flickered across Malcolm’s eyes again. “What?”

“We’re going to look into it. In the meantime. Call your mother’s lawyer.” He opened the door and waited for his team to follow. He motioned them into his office, watching the genuine disbelief on JT’s face and the deep cresses of doubt on Dani’s.

“Gil, what the hell, man. He was covered in her blood at the scene of the crime. His story was full of holes, and he immediately went on the attack in there.”

“Look, I’m not saying this doesn’t look bad for him….”

“But, you don’t think he did it,” Dani said, leaning her hand’s on the desk. “Gil, who is this kid to you?”

“Twenty years ago, on my beat. I got called to a house for a prank call. I met a nice doctor who lived in a nice house and offered me tea. While I was waiting, his son came up and told me that his father was going to kill me. Later, I would learn the tea contained ketamine used by the Surgeon to incapacitate his victims. Later, I would learn that the boy, Malcolm, was the one who called the police. He turned his father in and saved my life and countless other lives that night.” Gil shook his head, “My deepest regret is losing touch with him after that. I don’t know who he is now, it’s been twenty years. Maybe he did kill that girl. But he was a hero that night, and look at him. The world has failed Malcolm Whitly. We are not going to be one more cog in the machine dooming this kid for who his father is. If he didn’t do this, we’ll find the real culprit. If he did, then we will know we dealt fairly with him. That’s all I ask of you two.”

He looked at JT, saw the deep unhappiness in his eyes, then to Dani, where he found a caution. But he saw too their fierce loyalty. “Alright,” she said, and he knew they were doing this for him.

Gil stood, “So, let’s do this right.” He paused as Officer Ramirez motioned for him through the glass. He opened the door.

“Detective Arroyo, the suspect wants to talk to you.”

Gil made his way back to the interrogation room, opening the door. “Malcolm?”

“It’s just…” Malcolm let out a breath, tapping on the table with frantic energy. “I…I think it was personal.”

“What?”

“Whoever did kill that woman. The…the wounds weren’t professional the way my father’s were. They were messy. Like…something personal, a moment of emotion. And I think he felt regret immediately.”

“How do you figure?” JT pushed.

“The police arrived shortly after I did. I didn’t call them and there wasn’t anyone on the street.”

“You think the perp attacked her and then called the police.”

“Yes.” Malcolm looked at Gil. “Also, what happened to her dog?”

“What dog?”

“The lab mix in the photos on her hearth…there was a water bowl by the door.”

“And you noticed that while rushing to her body?” JT replied.

“You didn’t?”

“We’ll look into it,” Gil said, standing and leaving the room.

_-_-_

The sun rose and set again before Gil called for Malcolm to be brought back out of holding. He waved off the officer who started to cuff him. “You were right, Malcolm.”

“I don’t understand.”

“We found her boyfriend with the dog and blood he didn’t quite manage to get off his boots. He was furious when she broke up with him, but immediately regretted attacking her and called the police. He took the dog as some sort of twisted penance.” He shook his head, “He confessed to everything.”

“I’m free to go?”

“Yes.” Gil met his eyes, “Look…are you hungry?”

“Not really,” Malcolm said, studying him with the caution Gil was used to seeing from the rescues Jackie used to bring home, wounded cats or dogs that she would get back to health and find good homes.

“Even still, let me make you dinner.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s twenty years too long in coming.”

_-_-_

Malcolm did not say much on the drive to Gil’s house. He acted cornered and cautious. Gil caught him noting all the exits as they entered the house. The tremors did not stop at the station, though no longer handcuffed, he was able to at least attempt to hide them. It broke Gil’s heart to pieces.

He motioned Malcolm to take a seat at the kitchen bar and went behind it. “So, what do you like to eat?”

The young man shrugged slightly, “Most food makes me nauseated.”

Gil nodded, “Grilled cheese?”

The kid, as Gil could not help but think of him, nodded. Gil started getting it ready, studying Malcolm as he did. “So,” he said, “What do you do these days.”

Malcolm shook his head, leaning forward. “You didn’t invite me here to cook for me and make small talk.” His eyes narrowed, head tilting slightly. “You feel…guilty. Why? What do you have to feel guilty about, Detective Arroyo?”

“You like to cut through the bullshit. I respect that.”

“I’ve never really gotten the hang of small talk.”

Gil tossed the towel he was cooking with over his shoulder and leaned his hands on the counter between them. “The truth is I do feel guilty. After your father’s arrest…everything in me said I should reach out to you, should be there for you. It’s…my deepest regret.”

Malcolm’s eyes had softened slightly, and Gil saw that under the layers of scar tissue over his emotions, there was still a softness. “I doubt my mother would have allowed that to happen anyway.”

“We’ll never know,” Gil said quietly. He went back to prepping the sandwiches. “So how did you do it? Read me just now. Read the crime scene? How did you do it?”

Malcolm tapped his trembling fingers on the counter. “It’s a gift, I guess. I’m good at seeing things other people miss.” He glanced up, and Gil felt he was looking for something in the older man’s eyes. Whatever he found, it kept him talking. “After my father’s arrest, school was hell. I dropped out before I finished high school.” He shrugged, but there was pain there. “I started going to the library, reading about criminology, psychology, body language. And I learned a lot about the criminal mind and reading people from my father.”

“Your father?” Gil said, feeling a jolt.

Malcolm shifted, “I visit him sometimes.”

Gil saw at once this was not a place to push, watched the defensiveness spreading back through the kid’s expression, and veered off it. “It was impressive. You would make a good cop.”

Malcolm’s lips twitched into something near a smile. “Yeah, I thought about it. I kind of wanted to be a criminal psychologist.” The smile was gone in an instant. “Obviously didn’t work out.”

“What do you do?”

“Odd jobs, I bounce around.” He shrugged.

“Do you have a girlfriend, boyfriend?”

“What are you looking for?” Malcolm said, “You want me to tell you I’ve found some corner of meaning and happiness in my life so you can assuage your guilt and move on with your life?”

“No,” Gil dismissed this outright. “I want to get to know you. I should have been in your life all those years ago, and I wasn’t. I’m hoping I can be now.”

“I don’t need your pity.”

“Good. Because I’m not offering you pity.” He looked into the kid’s eyes and saw distrust there. Gil sighed, “You’ve told me a lot about yourself tonight. Honestly? I’m not exactly an open book.” He walked over and sat on the stool beside Malcolm, shoulder to shoulder. “But…my wife and I always wanted children, but she…we couldn’t have any, and adoption never was possible for us. Now she’s gone, four years ago.” He touched his ring, gently twisting it around his finger. “Now, I’m alone.”

Malcolm slowly raised his hand it placed it on Gil’s shoulder. The gesture felt awkward and hesitant, but Gil saw it was genuine. “When I was…fourteen,” he said, “One of the times I ran away from home, I went to see if I could find you. I went to the station I remembered from that night, but I couldn’t bring myself to go in again. I was about to leave when this woman got out of her car, and then you came out. She was bringing you lunch you forgot, apparently. The two of you laughed and smiled. That was her, wasn’t it?”

Gil felt emotions he was struggling to name welling up in him. “Why didn’t you come say anything?”

Malcolm looked away from him. “You were so happy, both of you. No one in my life is happy like that, and I just thought. Who am I to darken their happiness with my pain?” All of the defensiveness, all the defiance, went out of him with the story, and all that was left for Gil to see was the pain, raw and imposing.

“Hey,” Gil, on instinct, reached out and squeezed the back of his neck. It seemed to release something in Malcolm. The shaking increased, as did the tears, and Gil pulled him in for a hug. Malcolm tensed, then immediately relaxed and hugged him back.

The younger man pulled away awkwardly after a moment.

“I’m…I’m sorry,” he stammered out.

“Don’t apologize,” Gil said. A ding pulled his eyes to the phone on the counter. Gil grabbed it, “Detective Arroyo.” He made a few assenting sounds before hanging up without a goodbye. “I have to go, we have a stakeout planned, and it looks like someone needs to relieve one of my detectives. I can drop you off on the way.” He paused, “Or you could come with me.”

“On a stakeout?”

“You proved today you’ve got a good eye for this. You’d have to stay in the car if anything happens, obviously, but you might be able to spot things I’d miss.”

“Yeah…okay,” Malcolm said slowly.

Gil gave him a warm smile, “Good. Like I said, you’d have made a good cop. Or…psychology consultant.”

“Yeah,” Malcolm said, “Maybe in a different world.” Even still, he followed Gil to the car and got in the passenger side, headed to stakeout a criminal with the man who changed his life and then re-entered it, twenty years later.

**Author's Note:**

> Malcolm Bright in my story and in the show demonstrates suicidal behaviors (and in this story has past attempts). If you or anyone you know is struggling with suicidal thoughts, go to the National Suicide Lifeline website:  
> https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/  
> They have a 24/7 help line to call, a number to text, and information on suicide. You can also learn more at the National Institute of Mental Health's pages on Depression  
> https://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics/depression/index.shtml  
> And about PTSD  
> https://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics/post-traumatic-stress-disorder-ptsd/index.shtml  
> Both of which Malcolm likely has
> 
> Myself and my fellow psych doctoral students who watch the show together personally believe that along with Malcolm's complex PTSD, depression, he has undiagnosed Borderline Personality Disorder. In this story, I made it an explicit diagnosis.  
> For more on Borderline see here:  
> https://www.nami.org/learn-more/mental-health-conditions/borderline-personality-disorder


End file.
